Looking Down at the World Below
by Seph Lorraine
Summary: On the rooftop that night, he sat silently watching the street below us, and I looked up into the cloudless sky." Ken and Aya sit atop the Koneko one night.


**Author's Notes**: ( 5:48 PM 7/21/2004 ) Okkei, I have some notes on this piece, if you're interested in understanding it-- as I know it might sound a bit confusing. Symbolism is abundant. They're at my LiveJournal, listed in my profile under the 21 July 2001. Responses to reviews received here, will also be put there. Thank you, enjoy.   
  
No real warnings here, and as usual, _Weiss Kreuz_ is not mine.   
  
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** Looking Down at the World Below  
**  
By _Seph Lorraine_  
  
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I think there comes a time in all of us, when we have to look around and ask ourselves what it's for. What is it all for? Why am I doing it? What is the meaning of my life?  
  
What is my purpose?  
  
It's not suicidal thinking, or the coming of a mid-life crisis-- I'm much too young for that. It's something deeper. Some familiar angst that every human, assassin or not, must acknowledge during some point of their existance. No human is garunteed longevity or a happy, meaningful ending.  
  
Especially when one is an assassin.  
  
The idea bites at me until I'm restless, sometimes, but after these past few years, it's becoming routine. It's becoming a common presence in my mind. A lasting affliction.  
  
I'm worried that eventually I will fear death. Right now, the idea has no qualms with me; I could stand to leave it all, if I must. Though, I don't desire it, and I certainly don't go looking for it as he does. Aya's been seeking out death since before he was one of us, and still he does.  
  
The idea of dying without leaving my mark upon the world is one of the most depressing thoughts to me, right now. It seems to even myself sometimes that I'm too young to worry about things like that, yet at the same time, it seems like I'm too old to do anything about it. I suppose it's what remains of those childhood aspirations I locked away after my painful departure from the J-League. I practiced so hard with football, throughout my life, and I finally had the chance to become a goalie for a national team-- and for that while I had it, it was great.  
  
In a way I suppose I did make my mark on the world. Though, it wasn't the way I wanted it to be. It's not the piece of me I'd like to leave after I'm gone.  
  
I've had this conversation with him before. Sitting on the roof late one night after completing a particularly goulish mission. He actually began to speak to me then. The first time we really talked about things that mattered to us, and despite both of us in our unease with matters of trust, we each said more than we've probably shared with anyone in a long time. Especially him.  
  
When we're alone he says things, now. Given it's not with many words that he does so, but he says volumes to me. I've learned to read from his words, and slowly put together the pieces of the shattered mosaic that is our fearless leader. The way we were taught in school, by our parents, and by the culture around us to understand others.  
  
I thought I had lost that ability to concentrate and focus my attentions on a single subject after the J-League. He has retaught me this through his small speech. I am grateful.  
  
On the rooftop that night, he sat silently watching the street below us, and I looked up into the cloudless sky. I began to talk as was custom of me, and he made no sound or motion that he was listening to me at all. I was speaking merely to fill the empty air around us, it wasn't usuall for him to join me on the roof, but I wasn't about to reject his company. At least his being there made it seem that I was talking to someone, instead of just to myself, like usuall.  
  
"I want to leave something behind. I want people to know I was here... I don't know why, but the thought of non-existance is unbearable to me..."  
  
Only then did his cool violet eyes shift to watch me with a side-ways gaze, "Your gravestone will be mark enough, will it not?"  
  
I watched him with a frown, slightly surprised that he had thought to waste his breath on a responce to my stupid ranting, "That's too common. Those can be destroyed, and forgotten."  
  
He continued to watch me with narrow eyes, "But what can you do?"  
  
I almost growled at his cynicism. He was challenging me. Putting me down. Though, as I watched him I saw he was actually waiting for an answer. He wasn't guarded, ready for a hot-tempered insult-- he was waiting for a real response.  
  
"I..." My thoughts jumbled together, all of them seeming to be silly childish ideas, "I don't know."  
  
He rolled his eyes and looked to the street again, as if dismissing my presence.  
  
His message was in that small action, and he had a point. There is no sense in lamenting over such things unless one can put some of that angst towards thinking of a way to cure it. Take action, or accept what is to come.  
  
It's taken me time, a year since that night on the roof top to know what it is I want to do. The way I wish to leave myself with this world, even after I'm gone. It's taken a year of missions, nightmares, angsting, and quiet conversations with him to understand it. I want to be an inspiration.  
  
I want to inspire him.  
  
He, who still has the ability to do something. He, who has more potential and wisdom then I thought there could be in one as young as us. He, who has unknowingly given me back the traits that I lost when I lost my trust in others. My ability to concentrate, to consider my surroundings realistically, to pull my head from the clouds and set my feet upon the earth.   
  
Perhaps it's time he realised what he is-- what he can be. Whether he knows it or not, he is our leader for a reason. He was spared from his family's fate for a reason. He will be something greater than what he already is to me, one day. I'll make sure of it.  
  
He is my purpose.  
  
This evening, he joins me again on the rooftop, and stares down at the empty street three stories below us. It's just rained and the lights from the street lamps are reflected back in dull orange circles against the wet pavement. This time I follow his gaze, and I'm watching too. That is the world down there, and that is where we live.  
  
I talk on and on, as is usuall for me, and he makes small noises that tell me he is listening-- or that at least he hears me. He knows that I'm here. I watch the world, trying to avoid the sight of him, staring lifelessly at the street below. Then, when he thinks I'm not looking, he lifts his head and looks up at the clear night sky, just for a moment.  
  
And I hide my smile.  
  
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**Owari  
**  
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Reviews are appreciated. :) 


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